


Aftercare

by niveuos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Caring Harry, EWE, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Morning After, Needy Draco, Pet Names, Post-BDSM, soft and warm drarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 09:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niveuos/pseuds/niveuos
Summary: Afterwards, Draco was always so loose and soft and pliant beneath Harry’s hands. The way he mewled and whined and keened left Harry breathless, acres of pale skin blotched red and sometimes slightly blue positively thrumming under his fingertips. Harry loved Draco like this; at his most vulnerable, spread wide open, trusting Harry to take care of him with feather-light touches and warm kisses, trailing down his throat and chest, until the only thing left to remember was this feeling combined with a chorusing echo of Harry’s name cast on repeat in his brain.





	Aftercare

**Author's Note:**

> hey there its been a while. school is strenuous. i'm not a fan of a lot of the fics i have posted bc they aren't very good so i've been kind of put out writing-wise but i thought of this yesterday and i just really wanted some pure drarry post-kinky sex aftercare + morning after so that is literally all this is pls enjoy thank u

When Harry finally dared to first pull himself up and off of Draco’s chest, he did it slowly. This didn’t stop the whimper from escaping Draco’s lips, followed by a mixture of undistinguishable mumbling and the word _no_ , his stomach arching up into the space Harry had left. Harry sat up and straddled Draco’s chest, smiling fondly and brushing his fingertips lightly over the fabric covering Draco’s eyes, his own heavy and sated, body aching in the perfect type of way. “Shhhhh,” Harry hushed lovingly, both hands on Draco’s collarbones now, marvelling the way they stuck out of his skin. “Let me take care of you, okay?”

 

Harry started with the blindfold, pushing it over Draco’s sweaty hair and discarding it somewhere to deal with later. A pair of grey hooded eyes blinked up at Harry, bottom lip dropped, cheeks flushed a beautiful pink. “Hey, beautiful,” Harry murmured with a smile, leaning down to capture his lips in a soft, innocent kiss. When Harry pulled back Draco had a small smile on his face, but his eyes remained fluttered shut, lost in his own post-orgasmic world.

 

“Mhmm,” Draco hummed, but that was the limitation of his speech. Harry got to work on Draco’s wrists, carefully undoing the stubborn knots in the rope without rubbing too hard on his abused flesh, cradling the delicate skin once he was free. Harry brought Draco’s hands to his face, kissing delicately around the raw lines of his wrists, followed by every fingertip. When Draco had first explained how much he liked the feeling, Harry had struggled to understand. He didn’t understand the way how at first, a single bite to Draco’s neck would have him coming immediately, and the harder the bite the more powerful the orgasm. Harry first thought Draco was looking for a way to punish himself, like this was some sort of weird harm that could come to him that wasn’t self-induced. Draco had been angry and afraid and hurt. After revealing his desires and receiving Harry’s critical response, Draco avoided him for a week. Harry was guilty and miserable and heartbroken, eventually pulling Draco into an empty alcove and promising him, “ _Anything_.”

 

Harry could never forget the look in Draco’s eyes then, teary and in love, and they worked slowly up from there. Slapping hands and bound wrists and nipple clamps; Draco wanted all of it. He later learned that Draco liked that it was _Harry_ causing him pain, not because he wanted him to hurt, but because he wanted him to be hard and aroused and painfully pleasured. Draco wanted to be controlled by someone who didn’t want him for selfish gain, by someone who could ease the years of pressure and expectations with every bite and slap and hit. Draco didn’t need to think when Harry pushed him down and gave him everything he had and more. He could get lost in it, the fog of arousal, the sting and the burn.

 

Now that Draco was free, Harry adjusted their positions until Draco was pulled into him, Harry’s back against the headboard and Draco’s back to Harry’s chest. Harry pressed kisses into Draco’s left shoulder and cradled his stomach, feeling possessive and delighted and full of the desire to _take care_. Harry didn’t realise how much he would love this part when they started. After all the years of suffering Draco had faced, Harry loved to give him the care he never received. It made his heart all warm and happy and he felt like he could live in this feeling forever. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly, voice low in Draco’s ear, marvelling in the shiver that ran down Draco’s spine.

 

“M’good. Really good,” Draco sighed, still mumbled and not entirely coherent, but Harry had been here enough times to understand now.

 

“Good boy,” Harry praised, and there was another shiver. Draco was so easy to please, so desperate and willing. God, how Harry _wanted_. “Cleaning charm now or later?”

 

“Now’s fine,” was the barely-there reply, so Harry cast one without a second thought, no wand or words. _More shivers._

 

“I still don’t know why that gets you excited,” Harry chuckled in disbelief, hugging Draco tighter. Draco’s head rolled to the side a bit, baring his neck for Harry to nibble at.

 

“S’hot,” Draco mumbled, relaxing more as Harry kissed and licked the exposed flesh. Harry laughed against his skin, moving his chin to the blond’s shoulder.

 

“So are you,” he teased, wishing he could see the boy blush. His cheeks were made for it. “Ready for something to eat and drink now?” Draco nodded minutely, which was enough for Harry. He Summoned a glass from across the room, as well as a sandwich he had made earlier in preparation. He filled the glass with a quick _Aguamenti_ , bringing it to Draco’s lips until he started guzzling it quickly, throat dry from all the screaming and crying out. Harry tried not to get hard again remembering the sounds. He filled up the glass another three times before Draco made grabby hands at the sandwich, which Harry provided immediately. Draco could be such a spoilt brat. In moments like these, Harry was happy to give him whatever he asked.

 

Harry knew that as soon as Draco drifted back into normality, he would go back to the bossy snarky git Harry had fallen for. The satire and sarcasm and insults would roll off his tongue at anyone who dared so much as look at him funny while Harry snickered into his arm. He would turn his nose up, give Harry the silent treatment, complain about everything, whine when he didn’t get his way, and then Harry would push him up against a wall and shut him up with his tongue.

 

They’d never really talked about that part, but they both knew. Draco said cheeky things with the sole purpose of riling Harry up so that he would _do_ something. Of course, it was still just a natural part of Draco’s personality, but he never said anything truly awful. He just lived for Harry’s reactions, lived for the way being scolded and manhandled then cooed at and praised made him so fucking aroused.

 

Maybe he was a little fucked up. But the sex was also amazing, so neither of them really cared. They always talked about anything before they tried it, and safewords were always in place. If anyone else found out and had a problem with it, they could feel free to face them directly, which was why for obvious reasons, nobody did.

 

Once Draco had finished his sandwich, Harry adjusted them again until they were lying down and under the covers of the enlarged Slytherin bed. Draco was the only Slytherin of his year to return for their eighth year, so his dorm was empty, meaning Harry spent almost every night there. It was a privacy they appreciated very greatly, and they were probably the students having the most frequent sex throughout the entire school.

 

“You good, love?” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear, spooning him from behind. They both loved pet names, so they used them often. They both were very fond of ‘love’. Harry liked it when Draco called him ‘darling’ or ‘babe’, whereas Draco preferred ‘baby’ or ‘angel’. He was also sometimes quite unopposed to ‘filthy whore,’ depending on the situation, but that was only the finer details, really; a story for another day.

 

Draco nodded. “Yeah. Thank you. Love you s’much,” he managed, sinking further into the mattress, ready to be enveloped.

 

Harry tried not to grin madly into Draco’s neck. Draco hardly ever said those kinds of words. He was far too proud, or at least pretended to be. He always denied saying it later on, but Harry knew. If he said it when he wasn’t like this, when he wasn’t putty in Harry’s hands, his face was always bright red and he said it so quietly Harry always had to ask himself if he heard correctly. Then he ended up smiling so brightly the whole day that Draco was embarrassed to be around him.

 

“I love you too, angel. Sleep well,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady so Draco didn’t catch on that he was getting excited over that ‘love’ word again. Harry couldn’t help it. He was too much of a romantic.

 

“Mhmm, ‘arry,” Draco murmured, then relaxed, passing out almost immediately. Harry held on just that little bit tighter and followed soon after, wrapped around his beautiful angel.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Harry always loved the morning after, especially on nights like that one. When Draco stirred, still a little dopey and reaching out for Harry’s arms, Harry knew he’d fucked him just right; it was happening more often, recently, so Harry knew he was getting better with the whole thing, which was always encouraging.

 

Since Draco was being cuddly and dependant, Harry was immediately in a good mood, because he knew he would have to watch over him for a little while longer, at least until noon. Taking care of Draco made Harry feel so warm sometimes he thought he would burn, and he especially loved doing it where others could see. He did like his privacy, but there was something about everyone knowing, _witnessing_ it, seeing Draco as _his_ that made Harry’s heart pound.

 

Draco stirred a little bit more, so Harry knew it was time to start the day. “Draco, baby, time to get up,” Harry murmured, running his hands along Draco’s sides and playing with his hair.

 

“Ugh,” Draco moaned, pushing himself away and further into the bedsheets.

 

“Come back, Draco. C’mon,” Harry whined, unhappy with the lack of contact, wanting his arms to be full of pale skin and blond hair again.

 

“It’s Saturday,” Draco complained, turning around to look Harry in the eyes with a slight pout. _God, that mouth_. Draco’s whinging was so fucking annoying and adorable. He drove Harry mad.

 

Harry snuck closer, pulling Draco forward into his body to hold him securely again. He knew Draco wasn’t all gone like he’d been the night before, begging Harry to let him come and pulling on his bindings while Harry listed all the ways he wanted to fuck Draco’s arse. He was just that little bit compliant and little bit needy that sent Harry’s heart racing. “I know,” he sympathised, cradling the back of Draco’s head, “but it’s almost nine o’clock and we need to get showered and ready so we’re at breakfast. You do want to be at breakfast, don’t you?” Draco did. He loved being seen at breakfast after a long night of sex. He wanted people to see the hickeys and the marks and the look on his face. It was so humiliating, the way they stared, but for some reason that just made it so much better. “Thought so. C’mon, let’s sit up so I can fix up your wrists.”

 

For a reason Harry was still struggling to comprehend, Draco wouldn’t let Harry heal him directly after they did any harming acts. In fact, he was only allowed to half-heal him once they reached the morning after. Draco tried explaining that he loved the reminders, loved knowing that every time he sat down he could feel the bruises on his arse cheeks that Harry had put there, and it was addictive. Every little pinch was a reminder of Harry’s hands and what they were capable of doing to Draco. He could sit in class and poke at bruises when Harry wasn’t there to do it for him, and just that was enough to help him concentrate.

 

Draco sat up to see Harry pulling out ointments from the bedside drawer, preparing himself to do a quick healing routine he’d done many times before. When he noticed Draco looking at him, his face broke out into a fond smile, unable to help himself. “Such a sap,” Draco muttered, the sheets pooling around his lap, pale chest exposed to the cool morning air. He took satisfaction in the markings, hickeys down his chest followed by deep nail scratches, bruises from the pressure of Harry’s fingers.

 

“You love it,” Harry cooed, still smiling, and Draco’s face flushed a deep red, mouth zipping shut. The effect something as simple as Harry’s words could have on him was extraordinary. It used to make him feel embarrassed, and it took some time for Draco to be finally be comfortable with his body’s wants and needs. Harry happily gave him everything. Not just because he wanted to, but because he found he enjoyed it, too. That was what mattered most to Draco; that it wasn’t one sided, but mutually beneficial.

 

Without another word, Draco held out his wrists to Harry, eyes down in his lap and aiming to look shy. He played this part up a bit because he knew Harry liked it, and Harry knew Draco was anything but shy. They liked this, though. They liked how this worked. “Look at me, love,” Harry commanded softly, so Draco did. “Good boy.” It took all of Draco’s willpower to not get hard again. As much as he could go for another round, the pair of them were not very good at quickies unless they were in alcoves or empty classrooms or some other form of public space. When they had a bed and hours of silence, they could get lost in the feeling for eternities.

 

Harry cautiously began rubbing oil into Draco’s wrists, which stung slightly in a way Draco liked. Draco didn’t know why Harry always started with his wrists. He knew they affected Harry in a certain way, but he never asked. He just loved and appreciated the care Harry took with them, calloused hands meeting raw skin until all that was left of the rope’s burns were faint red circles around each wrist. They both knew the oil could heal them completely if Harry used just that little bit more, but he didn’t.

 

Next came the rest of his body, and Draco always fell into someplace else during this bit. Large hands ran all over his chest and arms and throat, muttering spells and changing creams until Draco was covered with them. His head floated away and he sat in pure bliss, swimming in a pool of an overwhelmingly secure feeling that Draco could bathe in endlessly.

 

Once the ointments had absorbed into Draco’s skin Harry guided them both to the shower where Harry washed both of their hair. If they took the shower first, the hot water irritated and burned certain marks on Draco’s skin in a not-good way, so they applied everything both before and after the shower until Draco was comfortable enough to leave the dorm. Of course, nothing healed completely. His wrists and the hickeys on his neck and the bruises on his thighs remained, so that when Draco sat in a class or the Slytherin common room without Harry there he could prod at them and remember the taste of Harry’s tongue.

 

The shower was hot and relieving. Draco kept his eyes closed while Harry bathed him, lathering soap across his body and whispering into his ear. The comfort was immense. Draco was disappointed when the water turned off.

 

After another light application of oils and creams, Harry dressed Draco in a pair of worn skinny jeans and an old sweater because he knew how much Draco loved the feeling of those different fabrics against his skin. Come tomorrow Draco would be back in button ups and black pants, but for now, he was comfortable in this. Harry dressed himself quickly, disliking leaving Draco untouched even for a moment. By the time they finally exited and entered the dungeons it was creeping on half past ten.

 

The pair of them held hands through the halls, and Harry raised his eyebrows at anyone who stared unapprovingly. It had been quite a few months since they had gotten together, but people still didn’t fully comprehend the nature of their relationship, misunderstanding how some days Draco wore Muggle denim and knitted sweaters and others he wouldn’t be caught dead in them. How Draco could be so snobby and infuriating and then submissive and clinging to Harry’s side. Some of them thought Harry was drugging him. Others hypothesised that he had some sort of personality disorder. Neither of them cared, because as long as people could see the hickeys along both their necks, Draco was happy.

 

Once they reached the Great Hall, Harry dragged Draco over to the Gryffindor table to sit across from Ron and Hermione, glad there were people around. It was a Saturday, after all, and most people wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to sleep in. Some mornings, Harry and Draco separated at the door with a kiss so Draco could mingle with his fellow Slytherins and Hermione and Ron could get Harry by himself for a bit. Of course, Harry wasn’t willing to separate himself from Draco’s side just yet today.

 

“Morning, boys,” Hermione mused, smiling up from her tea.

 

Ron still didn’t really understand what the pair of them got up to, so Draco’s constant change in behaviour and style confused him to no end. “Seriously, Hermione!” he would say as they walked away. “What is Harry doing to him?” Hermione would just shake her head and tell him not to worry about it.

 

“Nice of you to join us,” Ron added, snickering a bit. He wasn’t so daft not to know what they did in the late hours of the night.

 

“Morning to you too,” Harry said cheerfully, seating himself next to Draco, leaving a hand on his thigh under the table.

 

“Morning,” Draco greeted softly, meeting their eyes then looking away, the hickeys feeling hot and noticeable on his skin. It was humiliating and wonderful all at once.

 

“You coming to practise today?” Ron asked curiously, spreading marmalade on his toast. Harry never did miss practise even on mornings like these, but Ron still looked at that longing in both their eyes each time and wondered if Harry would skip just to take Draco back to their bed.

 

“Course I am. Captain, remember?” Harry said it like Ron was being ridiculous and he relaxed. He really needed to stop doubting his best friend.

 

Sometimes, the separation was the best bit. Draco would sit in the library filled with desperation and need, fidgeting in his seat trying to memorise Potions ingredients until he felt Harry’s hot hand on his neck, turning his legs to jelly. Harry would be shouting instructions at his Quidditch team while his mind contemplated Draco’s arse on a broom, and he had to try and hide his arousal from his teammates. It all added to the excitement, until they were all over one another later in the day and laughed at their own dependency.

 

It wasn’t all sex, obviously. They could play chess and giggle at stupid jokes and help one another with their essays. They could go to the Three Broomsticks with their friends and not once think about skiving off to the loo to ravish one another.

 

It was just days like today, when the marks littered Draco’s skin and his wrists were burned red.

 

“Toast?” Harry asked softly, directing the question at Draco. Draco nodded and Harry piled up his plate while Hermione asked him how his DADA essay was coming along and Ron complained about the Falcon’s keeper being replaced. Harry let Draco lick his fingers clean and fed him bits of toast until Draco rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and said he’d had enough.

 

“You better get ready for practise,” Ron warned, eating his final bit of bread and gathering his things. Harry sighed deeply, running his fingers over Draco’s wrists and kissing his forehead.

 

“You good to get yourself to the library?” he asked, running a hand through the blond strands of hair.

 

“Mhmm. Thank you. I’ll see you later?” Draco was already getting up, thinking about his Potions essay. Harry grinned, looking up at him until Draco leant down to give him a quick peck.

 

“Of course. Don’t push yourself too hard.” Draco made his retreat with soft footsteps, his hands running over his wrists, remembering how Harry had touched him.

 

The three Gryffindors remaining watched his exit silently, until Ron finally spoke up and said, “Seriously, Harry, is he— “

 

“Shush, Ron,” Hermione scolded, hitting him on the back of the head with a book.

 

“Sorry! But he’s wearing Muggle _denims_ , Hermione! Skinny denims!”

 

Harry laughed. “Don’t worry, he won’t be wearing them tomorrow, Ron. Although I must say they do make his arse look rather good.” And then it was Hermione’s turn to slap _him_ over the head with a book.  

 

And later, when Harry found Draco in the library reading about advanced Arithmancy and greeting him with, “Honestly, Potter, do fix your hair sometime, if you’d please, it’s embarrassing just to look at it,” Harry knew that Draco was back to his normal, snarky self.

 

At least until another night, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love xx i really hope at least someone likes this, its been ages since i've posted anything so i mightn't be up to scratch. might write a prequel if i can figure out a way to write decent bdsm idk lol thanks for reading xx


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